Trapped Together
by CaptainFrosty
Summary: What if characters from Sherlock, Once Upon a Time and Supernatural were all trapped in one room? Well, this, I suppose. Written in Sherlock's point of view.


**TRAPPED TOGETHER**

**CHAPTER 1**

**Hey there! CaptainFrosty here, bringing you a new little story! I was yearning for writing a crossover of all my current fandoms, and here we are! With my favourite characters of Sherlock, Once Upon a Time and Supernatural in this little locked-room mystery (Oops Sherlock reference), we find out how I think they'll react... There may be more mini-fandoms added into this as we go along! Please, favourite, review, and if you find this interesting, follow! I'm also searching for an editor, if anyone is interested. Thankyou!**

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" …bolted, no windows, not even a crack in the bloody walls. "  
" Then how are we breathing? It has to have been… A day or so. Approximately. "  
" Forget breathing. We can see – Why can we see? "  
" That would be of my accord. Angels have the ability to call upon light within darkness. "  
" Of _course_ they can. "

" Urrrrr…. " Sherlock groaned, muscles beginning to stir, pain shooting through his veins and heading towards his pounding head. Through the haze of pain and general unconsciousness, he registered warmth flowing from his jaw, trickling around his chin to pool near where his outstretched arm lay, numb. It took all his energy to force open his eyelids, blinking rapidly as his head tried to make out objects from the fuzz that was his sight. The world around him was warped and pixelated, greyed and abstract, like an odd piece of art.

Like the… Um… Mona Pisa… Roma Lina… God, he couldn't think!

" Oh, look, the Brit's awake. "  
" Oi – I'm English, you daft moron! "  
" Oh, I'm so sorry, _your majesty. _"

Two male voices bickered through the screech that rung through his ears. One was deeper, laced with sarcasm that accompanied that particular statement, and another quite obviously English. Both foreign to his ears.

" Shut up, you two. He's hurt. " This voice – Feminine. Lighter, laced with defiance. A hardening backstory, obviously. But faintly adoring. There must be someone in the room who she was fond of…

… And there was his deducting abilities! He was a genius once more!

" What did you just say? "

Oh. He said it aloud. He really should stop that.

Sherlock snapping open his eyes once more, barely realising their drifting closed, and fixed his wobbly gaze on a confused, offended and faintly frightened face, framed with curled golden locks, faintly tangled.

Well, may as well tell the truth.

" I said – Your voice is feminine. Defiant. You obviously have a hardening backstory, taking by the instant distrust. Someone left you all alone, when you were young. Twice, actually. The person's second chance has disappeared, and now you trust nobody, assuming they'll do the same. But there is fondness. There's someone here you're fond of. Your gaze keeps flickering off to my left - there must be someone you're keeping an eye on in that direction. For two reasons, considering that you are always looking twice. Once, to make sure they're not causing trouble – Which tells me they can be mischievous if not looked after – and a second time to ' check them out ', as I believe the youth say these days. "

In rapid succession did he note all his deductions, and as he opened his mouth to mention about her red jacket that was off in the corner and the stain on her white shirt, a familiar voice interrupted him.

" Sherlock, do you _have_ to show off? "  
" John? "  
" Who'd you expect? I was hoping you weren't going to go dying on me again. "  
" Oh please, that's so three years ago. "

The two men shared a quiet chuckle, and Sherlock blinked up at his surroundings. The walls were dark, cast in shadow and seemingly voided from the soft blue-tinted light who's source was impossible to be seen. Through the darkness, dull marks of mainly deep red stained the concrete, but as one of the people around him mentioned, it was a slab of uncracked stone. Small personal possessions littered the ground, but apart from those small items, the only furniture was a plush throne-like seat, in which a chubby dark-haired male in a dark suit-like costume sat, positively radiating self-righteousness. To the left of him, leaning against the scrappy material, was a model-type 30-odd year old man, dark blonde with a hardened appearance. Crossed arms – Distrustful, like that blonde before. Next to him, a taller man with shoulder-length dark hair and steely features. Brothers, considering their proximity. Or maybe partners….

" Are you hurt? " A voice next to him interrupted his ponderings, making him jolt gently and face another male with dark hair, blue eyes and a cream-khaki coloured three quarter trench coat.  
" Yes. Um, I mean, I'm fine. My jaw's a bit sore, but -. " Before the last word even escaped his mouth, Trench-Coat had placed two fingers on the wound, and with a small flash of light the skin had healed over. Sherlock blinked up at him, vaguely shocked, head spinning through reasons on why the _hell_ that just happened… But Trench-Coat had begun speaking again.

" I'm assuming you don't know everyone. " He pointed to the blonde, who had taken up place next to a black-haired blue-eyed man covered in dark leather and a… a… He had a hook. For a hand. " That's Emma Swan, and Killian Jones. He's very fond of his hook. I've learnt from experience. " He then pointed to the three men, one in the throne and two on the left. " Those three are special friends of mine – Dean and Sam Winchester, and Crowley, King of Hell. " His gaze slid over to Watson and a figure who was faced away. " And that's John Watson, with Jim Moriarty. "

Time slowed down.

_Jim Moriarty._

As if on cue, the figure turned to reveal the Irishman's grinning face.

" _Well, good luck with that. " Moriarty broke into a wide grin, hand moving up with a glint of steel. He opened his mouth wide, moving the gun into his jaws, then pulling the trigger in one swift movement. Sherlock stumbled back in shock, the loud bang ringing through his ears.  
Dead. They'll all be dead. Mrs Hudson, John, George Lestrade…_

" ….but he calls himself the Mad Hatter, and Graham Humbert. " Trench-Coat was saying. " And I'm Castiel. " He smiled, but it soon fell at the distress on Sherlock's face. " Are you alright? " Castiel asked, but Holmes just shook his head, stumbling onto his feet. " Yes, I'm fine. " He mumbled, then nodded to the surrounding people.

" We heard you were a ' deducer '. " Killian Jones growled in the silence. " From your friend over there, the Watson fellow. Said you were a genius. "

" Can you get us out? " Emma Swan interrupted her boyfriend – _No ring, obviously in a romantic relationship. Must be boyfriend_ – stepping forward.

Sherlock blinked. Looked around his surroundings. Back to the group.

" Maybe. "


End file.
